Before the Dawn
by LadyWoot
Summary: Meeting him at midnight, Harry realises he wants things to change. Can a Dark Lord understand this new idealism Harry's adopted?


**A/N- Well, this is in spirit of the Valentine's. I wrote it, meaning to post a cookie for the T-LV/H ship, but wounded writing something a bit longer. This is dedicated to the S.S. Ssssss of which I am proud to captain. **

**Disclaimer- If I owned Harry Potter, he would have been irredeemably ukeru as Tom-Voldemort played the irrevocable semeru. **

-0-0-

**_-Before the Dawn- _**

_Meet me after dark again and I'll hold you.. _

_I want nothing more than to see you again. _

_And maybe tonight…we'll fly so far away _

_We'll be lost before the dawn_

-Before the Dawn by Amy Lee

-0-0-

The air blew out in soft, but thick clouds as Harry shuffled his feet along the frost-crunchy earth. The icy air seemed to bite with long persistent teeth at his skin, and he could only turn up his collar to repair what seemed to come upon him as he passed the tombs. They were like little grey judgements on him as he passed, one after the other bare-white in the moonlight.

And then he was there.

Stark white even against the snow, Voldemort's eyes glittered like jewels of bloodred beauty over the grey, white, and black of night.

"You should not have called me here, Harry. It is not the opportune time."

Harry ducked his head, as he pushed his hands further into his pockets. "Don't you know what night it is?"

The Dark Lord paused in his step toward the other man. Surely, he didn't mean… "It is a Tuesday, mid-February and I was in the middle of a breakthrough…could you not have waited until Friday as per our agreement?"

Harry's fists clenched and the leather encasing his fingers groaned with a strained sound. The green in his eyes dimmed, but he spoke steadily through his teeth. "Actually, it is Wednesday…the _fourteenth_ of February, and I called you-"His voice broke off for a short moment before he looked away. "I called you here-to _this_ place for a reason. Do you know where this is?"

Tom looked around. The trouble with port-keys was their general ambiguous nature. One never could tell where a tiny brass key-once you touched it-would take you. The snow blanketed everything and made the distant lights of the town seem picturesque against the near cobalt blue of the winter sky. The earth there was caked with frost and resembled huge crumbs of chocolate cake surrounded by grey stones, silver in the evening's light. He eyed two of the grey stones near him.

**James** **Potter**…and then right next to it…**Lily** **Potter**

Voldemort stepped back abruptly. His blazing eyes fixed on Harry with an expression of disgust. "What is this?" he demanded, but Harry had already closed the space between them. His thin, strong, boy-like arms wrapped about the Dark Lord's torso and his white cheek rested reverently on Voldemort's chest.

There was a silent still moment and Tom was well-aware of how ridiculous he must look, standing there, arms uselessly at his sides as a young man with scruffy hair, dressed in the remnants of formal wear all crumpled by his jacket.

He could smell the remaining scent of where the young man had been before coming here. He pictured the boy-hero seated at a long table, as his family members chatted loudly, pouring drinks and passing truffles. He could very well be having a fine time…

"Why are we here, Harry?" he asked, his tone a little softer this time.

Harry's voice was muffled, his mouth crushed against the fabric of Voldemort's coat. "There's something I wanted you to know."

Darkness kept Voldemort's expression shaded.

Harry lifted his head and looked up at the other man. "It's over."

For a wild moment Tom thought the ever-kind Boy Who Lived had adopted a cruel demeanour, willing to place this among a shelve of charades and walk away, but the other man's fingertips tightened on Voldemort's coat.

"I'm in love, Tom," Harry began earnestly. "And it's killed the rest of the hate I had for you, for what you've done. I've been in love with you for a year and I want it all to end. I want to be able to see you all the time, without calling you at this ridiculous hour of the night! I want…"

Voldemort stared at Harry, his silence heavy and perhaps worn. "Harry, you know…" He sighed. "I-I …_really_ don't understand you sometimes."

The young man frowned. "That makes two of us."

The cold seemed to make a brief attempt to wriggle in between them just then, and Tom felt it. Not sure what else may have been the best solution; he lowered his head and pressed the edge of his mouth to Harry's lips. "But you understand me," he whispered a moment after.

"I _do_," Harry replied with some obstinacy that came across as almost endearing.

Voldemort was thinking, however. "I've heard that to understand something in full…is to…_adore _it in one's own particular nature."

The boy-hero tilted his head and surveyed the Dark Lord.

"Perhaps," Voldemort continued, not looking at the young man anymore, "…perhaps I may come to _understand _you in this fashion."

Harry found he had to look away; just in case…just in case his eyes were wet.

-0-0-

_If only night could hold you where I can see you, my love _

_Then let me never ever wake again _

_And maybe tonight, we'll fly so far away _

_We'll be lost before the dawn... _


End file.
